


The Red Queen

by TheRedWulf



Series: Roosa One Shots [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arya x Ramsay, Battle, Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fuck Canon, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Rare Pairings, Rescue Missions, Roosa - Freeform, Smut, Strong!Sansa, canon sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - In which Roose Bolton is tasked with taking Sansa from King's Landing...Picset is viewableHEREAlso, please check out this fantastic image from ineedminions!HERE





	The Red Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ineedminions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineedminions/gifts).

> Oh look...another one shot....don't judge me!
> 
> This was suggestion/requested by ineedminions over on tumblr and I could NOT get it out of my head! I loved the idea so much! There is a LOT of canon typical violence (its the Boltons guys) and threats of rape near the end, but no actual rape. Just a warning. 
> 
> There is also smut....a lot of smut. Sorry?
> 
> I know, I know, I should be working on my open Stansa, ssssshh!  
For the 100th time I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

_“I have a very large favor to ask of you, Lord Bolton”_ Robb Stark’s words echoed in Roose’s head as he stared across the horizon at King’s Landing. Beside him, Ramsay was frothing at the bit, eyes wide as he smirked at the city. 

The goal, ideally, was to get in and out as quickly as possible. Grab Sansa Stark and run North as fast as they could. Sneaking into the Red Keep wasn’t exactly what he had expected his King to ask of him, but he would do his best to bring the King’s sister home. 

No, not only his sister, but his heir. With the fall of Winterfell at the Lannister’s hands and Theon Greyjoy’s help, Sansa was the only other living Stark. Roose was to bring her back North where she would be safe. 

Safe, Roose scoffed. Safe until Robb bartered her away to make another alliance or patch up one he’d broken with another impulsive decision. The Young Wolf, while decent on the field of battle, was too young and too stubborn to truly rule well. 

Still, he remained loyal with the hopes that Robb would soon come to his senses. Though his patience was wearing thin. He found himself hoping that with Sansa’s return, Robb would realize his responsibility and act as such. But it was likely a vain hope.

So, while the King and his vanguard made way to The Twins, Roose and Ramsay had continued south, their mission clear. It was preferable, actually, than attending another farce of a political wedding and Ramsay was itching to kill a few Lannister men.

He watched as the sun dipped to the horizon and darkness began to creep in. 

“Ramsay” Roose turned to his bastard. 

“Ready” Ramsay replied. 

“Remember” he warned. “Subtle.” 

“Subtle, got it” Ramsay smirked. 

Ramsay couldn’t wait. Finally the boy king had sent them to do something _fun_. War and battle were fine, but here they were in the heart of Lannister territory, riding through darkness to rescue the princess. 

Finally, he would be able to kill lions in their own territory. 

He rode alongside his father, amazed at how calm he seemed to be. Though, Roose Bolton was always calm, always in control. It was what made him so terrifying, really. Robb Stark ranted and raved, but Roose Bolton never even flinched. 

They entered the city gates with tattered wool cloaks over their own, riding in with a series of carts that hid their purpose. The city was huge, stone filling the horizon and he decided instantly that he hated it. There were too many people, too many buildings and nowhere to hunt. 

The further into the city they got, the more it smelled, the thick stench of waste and urban decay hung heavy in the air. He covered his face and mouth with the tattered wool to quell the urge to vomit. 

They stopped at a brothel a few blocks from the walls of the Red Keep, tying their horses with a dozen others before continuing on foot. If they had had time, he would have loved to go into the brothel, fuck a Southron woman and see if they were any different. Myranda would be keen to know, as well, he smirked. His filthy girl. 

Sticking to back alleys and shadows, they moved to a side gate, father and son pulling their daggers from their sheaths. 

“Subtle” his father whispered as they approached the two guards. In tandem, they moved to the guards, covering their mouths and slitting their throats without hesitation. The men’s struggles died as quickly as they did, and they dragged them to a cart near the alley, covering their bodies with straw. 

From there is was a complicated system of stealth and throat slitting, not his preferable mode of hunting, but in this they had to move carefully. 

Reaching a staircase, a man in red armor stood at the ready, torch in hand. His father moved quickly, a feat for a man so broad, and grabbed the guard. Ramsay grabbed the torch as it dropped, ensuring they were not heard. 

“Lady Sansa” Roose hissed into the guard's ear. “Where is she?” The man struggled but did not speak, “Ramsay.”

Ramsay smirked, leaning forward to dig the flaying blade into the man's thigh, cutting straight to the bone, “Where?” Ramsay whispered, dragging the knife up, rending muscle and nerves like butter. 

“Top of the stairs, on the left” he mumbled against Roose’s hand and then found himself choking as Roose slit his throat.

They ran up the stairs, finding her door easily and disposing of the white cloak standing guard outside of it before moving inside. 

Sansa sat on the balcony of her room in the Red Keep, wondering if she would ever find the courage to throw herself from its safety and to the world below. Perhaps then she would finally be free of this prison. 

No, she would fight. She would never give up and let the Lannisters win. Never let Joffrey and his horrible mother win. She had survived this long, she could continue to go on. 

She had been here four years now, once a child of four and ten, now she was a woman grown and a prisoner of the lions. A wolf held captive. 

With Joffrey married to Queen Margaery now, she had more peace than when she was the court’s entertainment, sometimes a sennight passing where she did not leave her room. But each month, like clockwork, when Margaery showed no signs of pregnancy, Sansa was paraded from her room to shoulder the blame. 

She would chirp her words, as The Hound has once called it, promise the king that she had not asked the Old Gods to hurt the queen. When she was done, Ser Meryn would hit her as the king stood and watched. 

Sansa may have been stupid once, but she learned. She knew that Lady Tyrell, Margaery’s grandmother, controlled Margaery’s body and made her drink moon-tea every day. The Tyrell’s owned the queen, and Olenna would never let Tywin Lannister have the upper hand. 

So she bore her beating in silence, then hid away in her room until the cycle began again.

Turning from the balcony she returned to her room only to pause at the sight of two men near her bed. Not just any men, _Northmen_. 

The older of the two, while not much taller than her, was broad and strong, clad in brown leather with a flayed man on his breastplate. He had a sharp jaw and bright grey eyes that seemed to cut through her. His hair was grey, as was his beard, and he held a bloodied dagger in his hand. 

The younger wore all black, the madness in his blue eyes startling as he wiped his mouth with a hand holding a sinister looking flaying knife. 

She felt fear ripple through her, wondering if they were going to kill her. No, she frowned, they were from the North, so…

“Lady Sansa” the older man spoke, his voice deep and calm. “My name is Roose Bolton, this is Ramsay Snow---”

“Lord Bolton” hope bubbled up in her chest as tears filled her eyes. 

“Indeed” he gave a faint smile, as if the gesture was foreign to his nature. “We’re here to take you home.” 

“Oh Gods” she couldn’t have stopped herself for all of the gold in Lannisport, she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around Lord Bolton’s waist, burying her face in the warmth of his neck. She didn’t care that he had a knife in his hand and blood on his person, she was going home. She imagined she could still smell the air of the North on him, snow, evergreen and leather. 

He returned her hug with the arm that didn’t hold the knife, patting her back softly. When the realization of her impropriety sank in, she moved back, wiping the tears from her cheeks. 

“Grab your cloak, quickly,” he instructed. “And cover your hair.” Grabbing a scarf she obeyed, tucking every last curl underneath it before she pulled on the only cloak she had. It was a bit short, but it would have to do. “You stick close to me, do you understand? Ramsay and I will make sure no one hurts you, but if they see us, we _are_ going to kill them, so no screaming.”

“Kill them” she said, clenching her jaw. “Kill all of them, flay them, I do not care. I hate them.”

“Good” Lord Bolton nodded. 

“I like her better than her brother already” Ramsay chuckled as he moved to the door, cracking it open to check the hall. “Let’s go” he whispered. 

Lord Bolton took her hand, holding his knife at the ready as they followed Ramsay down the hall. They did their best not to make a sound, sticking to the shadows as they descended the stairs. When they reached the bottom, a kingsguard walked across the entry, head swiveling as he searched for something. 

Ramsay moved then, silent as snow, into the hall. A shuffled, grunt and the clank of armor hitting the marble reached ear ears. Lord Bolton resumed guiding her forward, her eyes glancing at the unseeing eyes of the white cloak as they passed him. Ramsay had been efficient, slitting his throat with no hesitation. A concept that sent fear skittering over her spine. 

She ran behind them as they took her through the bowels of the Keep and into the cold night air. They passed another body, this time a Lannister man and she assumed they were going out exactly as they had come in. 

It wasn’t until she was sitting in front of Lord Bolton on his horse, looking back at the Red Keep as they rode through the streets of King’s Landing, that it hit her...

“I’m going home” she whispered. 

“North first, then once your brother retakes Winterfell, home” Lord Bolton nodded, pulling his cloak around her to ward off the chill. 

“Thank you” she said, tears spilling from her eyes. “You have no idea what you’ve given me. I will never be able to repay this debt.” 

“Rest now, Lady Sansa,” he said, softly. “We’ve got a long journey ahead.” 

She gave a watery nod and relaxed against his chest. She cried softly, relief and exhausted coursing through her in equal measure. The tension she’d felt since her father’s arrest finally melting from her chest and, with Lord Bolton’s warmth and the steady sway of the horse beneath her, she slipped into slumber. 

“She’s pretty enough” Ramsay noted, glancing to where Sansa slept against his chest. Dawn had come, with them riding through the night, and the city was far behind them. 

Roose frowned at his bastard, “No.”

“No?” Ramsay laughed, shaking his head. “I do not need her, I have Myranda. But you…”

“No” Roose repeated. “She is Lady Sansa Stark, not some common woman you fuck for fuckings sake.”

“Like my mother?” Ramsay smirked and Roose fixed him with a glare. 

“You mother, was a whore who fucked for coin” Roose stated. “Lady Sansa is no whore.”

Ramsay shrugged, returning his focus to the forest road they were traveling along. It would take them a sennight to reach Winterfell, if they pushed hard and had luck with the weather. It would be a hard ride, but fortunately Lady Sansa seemed to travel well. 

He had felt the moment she lapsed into slumber, her body went from rigid to pliant against him, her face burrowed in the leather of his doublet. Still, hours later, she was sagged against him, the grey of her headscarf peeking out from where his cloak kept her warm. 

Ramsay, for all his faults, was not mistaken in her beauty. The last time he had glimpsed her she was a girl of ten, running around Winterfell with her direwolf. Now she was a woman grown, a tall, slender beauty with hair even redder than her lady mother’s. 

Whatever had happened to her in King’s Landing after Lord Stark’s death, it had turned her from porcelain to steel. She was a great beauty with the strength of the North in her, and he knew that the Young Wolf would have no problem finding a man to marry her. 

When she had turned from the balcony, meeting his eyes, he felt the impact of her beauty like a physical blow, the air rushing from his lungs as they watched each other. Likely, she had thought they came to kill her, which would have been a logical deduction given their state. When faced with death she did not scream, cry or cower, but stood tall and faced her fate. 

That was, however, until she rushed into his arms. Not generally permitted, he indulged her, taken by the relief on her face as he told her his name. She was tall enough to nearly look at him eye-to-eye, her head resting on his shoulder and the scent of her hair surrounding him. 

He was a cold man, not accustomed to fancy or lust, but this woman stirred something in him. Something dark, possessive and lustful. There was no sense in harboring such thoughts, he mused as he pushed the thoughts away. She was destined for a political marriage, as he was, but he could never aim so high as Lady Sansa Stark.

They reached a wooden bridge over a rushing creek and reined their mounts to a stop. Ramsay dismounted easily, but Roose had to wake Lady Sansa. 

Raising a gloved hand, he gently rubbed her back, “Lady Sansa.” 

She jolted awake with a gasp, her hand shooting out to land on his upper thigh, “Oh” she looked up at him, blinking the exhaustion from her eyes. He felt her fingers move, then her cheeks turned bright red as her hand moved away. “Forgive me, Lord Bolton.”

“There is nothing to forgive” he assured her. “We’re going to rest here a bit, water the horses and eat before we continue.”

“Alright” she nodded as Ramsay came to help her from the horse. “Thank you” she said when she reached the ground. 

“If you need to go into the trees, stay close,” he told her as he dismounted. 

“I will” she nodded, moving to the creek’s edge where she knelt on the grass and used a hand to bring water to her face, washing away the dust before drinking. 

“See if you can find something to eat” Roose told Ramsay, who grabbed a bow from his pack and wandered off into the woods. Roose lead the horses to the creek, allowing them to drink their fill. 

“I am surprised he sent you” Lady Sansa said softly. “After all this time, why bother?” 

He was surprised at her candor, “I believe, after the trouble with his wife---”

“Wife?” Lady Sansa looked to him with wide eyes. 

“A woman by the name Jeyne Westerling” Roose explained. “He broke his word to Lord Frey and now knows he must make amends.”

“He broke---Bloody idiot” she muttered, shaking her head. “What a fool, a damned fool.”

“I agree, Lady Sansa” he couldn’t help but give a small smile. 

“I’m to be sold then, as chattel to Lord Frey?”

“I cannot say” he frowned, not very fond of the idea of Lady Sansa being given to Walder Frey. 

“Might as well sell me back to Tywin Lannister” she quipped. “Regardless, I am grateful that you came, Lord Bolton. It requires a substantial amount of bravery to sneak into the Red Keep.”

“Bravery or insanity” he reasoned. “Fair bit of both.”

“Men not afraid to do what has to be done, no matter the consequence,” she said softly, her eyes full of sadness. “Sometimes it is honor that gets you killed, you have to set it aside to survive.” 

He agreed with her words, but was surprised to hear them from Eddard Stark’s daughter, “Well said, Lady Sansa.”

“Meat!” Ramsay returned a short while later, holding a very large rabbit in one hand and a knife in the other. 

Roose looked to Sansa as she washed her hands in the creek, the pain in her eyes cutting through him. 

Sansa watched Lord Bolton as he cooked the rabbit on the fire, his quiet strength calling to her. She had never met a man like him, with such a commanding presence without having to speak. His voice, when he did speak, was calm and deep, the timbre vibrating through her. He did not rely on size to intimidate like Tywin Lannister did, or fury like Joffrey, he simply exuded authority. 

He was handsome, in a rugged warrior sort of way. His grey eyes held no malice or madness, unlike his bastard, and his beard was well kept, clean. Without his cloak she could see that his shoulders were broad, as was his chest, strength evident in each muscle. 

His cloak, that now sat on her shoulders, keeping her warm in the evening air, smelled of evergreen and leather, a scent she learned was unique to Lord Bolton. 

“Tell me, Lady Sansa” Ramsay prompted. “They say the King is fond of weapons. Which ones?” 

“Crossbow” she said, closing her eyes against a wave of unwelcome memories. “And whips.”

“Crossbow?” Ramsay laughed. “What a woman’s weapon. Knives are much better.”

“Not all men are as skilled with a blade as Bolton men” she replied. 

“Ah, figured out who my sire is, I see” Ramsay said. 

“You have your father’s jaw” she explained. “And you were carrying a flaying blade in the Keep.”

“But your sire outlawed flaying in the North” he countered. 

“My sire lost his head the south” she replied. “Under the Red Kings, flaying was quite useful.”

“You know Bolton history?” Lord Bolton asked. 

“I know most of the Northern house histories,” she said. “I found myself wondering, if you were to hang the skin of your enemy in your keep, would it not smell?” she laughed softly. 

“You think about flaying your enemies often?” Ramsay asked. 

“Flaying would be a picnic compared to what I wish to do. I have many ideas but am powerless to execute them” she said quietly, but knew both men heard her. “Why fight a war on the field when there are men, like you, who can get into the keep?”

“Your brother keeps the Bolton’s leashed” Ramsay replied. 

“Ramsay--” Roose chided. 

“He’s right” Sansa agreed. “My father did the same. Stifling violent men doesn’t make them obedient, it makes them rabid” she pulled the cloak tighter around herself. “Violent men are needed to stop cruel men.”

“Something your father did not understand” Roose said. 

“No” she agreed. “He was too trusting, too honorable. As was I. But those days are over.” 

“And if you were in control?” Roose asked. 

“I would send you both south,” she stated. “And ask for you to bring Joffrey’s head---Cersei’s too.”

“Give me twenty good men and I will bring you whoevers head you want” Ramsay smiled. 

“Ramsay” Roose handed the younger man a chunk of meat, telling him without words to shut up. 

Sansa smiled as Roose handed her a large piece, “Thank you, Lord Bolton.”

He nodded, “Eat and then we will get back on the road, we shouldn’t linger too long.” 

They were on the outskirts of a village near the Crossroads when it happened. News of Catelyn and Robb Stark’s death at the Red Wedding was all the villagers were talking about, telling stories of how brutal Walder Frey had been in his revenge. 

Roose sent Ramsay into town to figure out what had happened as he took a catatonic Sansa to the woods and kept her hidden. If this was true, Sansa was Queen now, his Queen.

“Lady Sansa” he said and she pushed away from him and to her feet beside the horse, where she staggered a few steps and collapsed. He was beside her in an instant, wrapping his arms around her as she screamed in agony. “Sshh,” he tried to soothe her. 

“Stupid, stupid boy” she sobbed. “Stupid…” she turned into his chest, clinging to his doublet as she cried. 

“Sshh” he rocked her gently, providing the only comfort that he could as she lost the last of her family. He held her until her sobs quieted and she sniffled softly, 

Walder Frey must have allied himself with the Lannisters, Roose reasoned as he held her. To violate guest right and slaughter them in cold blood, he had to have Tywin’s blessing. Roose frowned, knowing that as petulant and impulsive as Robb was, he was still his King. Now, it was left to Sansa, a woman who had not been in the North in four years. 

“I will need you” she said softly against his chest, as if reading his thoughts. She pulled back, looking up at him with puffy, red eyes, “I will need you, Lord Bolton, now that I am…”

“Queen” he finished when she did not. 

“I do not know how to be a Queen” she whispered. 

“Make them love you” he replied. “Fear is powerful, but love is empowering. Men fight for love, animals fight out of fear.” 

“I will need you” she said once more. 

“I will not leave your side” he said before he could stop himself. 

“Thank you” she sighed, blinking away tears as her head returned to his chest. 

That was how Ramsay found them, crouched on the forest floor, Sansa crying softly in his arms. He glared at the boy, warning him not to speak, even as Ramsay’s brow rose. 

“Lord Walder Frey has sworn for the Lannisters” Ramsay explained without dismounting. “The King and Queen, along with Lady Stark and a dozen others were killed in the hall.”

“We will ride to meet the armies” Roose said. “Our Queen will give orders from there, once she is safe.”

“Alright” Ramsay smiled as Roose stood and helped Sansa to her feet. Roose set her atop his destrier before mounting behind her, surprised when she resumed resting against him. He wrapped his cloak around her and they turned North, heading toward the Northern armies. 

“You should sleep, Your Grace” Roose’s voice said, breaking into her musings. “Tomorrow is a big day.”

“For you as well” Sansa replied, turning to face her closest advisor. He was working at the map table in the command tent, the flaps open and the sound of camp audible in the background. 

They had met the Northern armies just over a sennight after they took her from the Red Keep, silence and stares greeting them as they rode into camp. By then, Lord Bolton had managed to get her her own horse, insisting that she should ride in like a queen, proud and strong, not like a scared girl. 

So, in the last village before camp, they had stayed in an inn, bathed and that morning she walked to her horse with her hair unbound and in a new, black dress, a gift from Lord Bolton. 

When Lord Bolton helped her from the horse at the large tent that had once been Robb’s, the men dropped to their knees, bowing as their Queen set foot on Northern soil for the first time. 

She took Lord Bolton as her advisor, her closest confidant and commander of her armies. None of the other lords had baulked at this, as Lord Bolton had also advised her brother. Perhaps if Robb had listened to Lord Bolton more often, he would still be alive. 

Now, three moons later they were camped outside Castle Cerwyn, half a days ride from Winterfell. They were almost home, she smiled. Almost home.

There was much to be done once they had reclaimed Winterfell, the most important of which was ensuring her legacy lasted beyond her own life. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and for that she must marry. 

Some of the other Northern lords had hinted at such, and she had several more ravens regarding alliances that could be made. But she had made her decision long ago, settled on a man incredibly brave and just mad enough to walk into the Red Keep with only a dagger in hand. 

She used to read about golden knights and daring rescues, but it had been a dark warrior who had saved her from a golden prison.

“Do you worry for him?” she asked. 

“No” he said. “Ramsay is as skilled as he is mad.” 

“I give him 20 good men, he promises me Winterfell” she laughed. “Is there no bounds to his determination?” 

“He is a...unique young man” he noted. 

“His mother?”

“A whore, Your Grace” Roose answered bluntly. She appreciated that he never withheld his words, always speaking honestly with her. 

She raised a brow, “A habit of yours?”

“Not for many years” he replied. 

She nodded, “If he succeeds, with your permission, I would legitimize him for this. I believe he would be useful at the Dreadfort” she said softly. 

“Is my death a foregone conclusion?” he chuckled, meeting her eyes. 

She laughed, shaking her head as she crossed the tent to his side, “I would have you at Winterfell, Lord Bolton” she reached out to cover his hand where it rest on the table. “As my husband.” 

At this, his grey eyes shot to hers, filled with questions, “Your Grace---”

“Sansa” she corrected him. “Please call me ‘Sansa’.”

“You’re serious.”

“I am” she ran her fingers over the back of his hand and his other hand shot out to still her wrist, gently but tight enough to hold it still. 

“What would your lords say?” he asked, neither of them moving. 

“That you walked into the Red Keep to bring me home,” she said. “That Robb Stark sent you on a suicide mission and yet you succeeded. That your son gave us Winterfell. That you have helped me to rule these three moons, and that you will continue to do so.” 

“Sansa…” he watched her, searching her eyes. 

“My father tried to stifle your family’s strength, your violence” she said. “I would embrace it, encourage the man who would dare anything to keep our kingdom safe. You have an heir, should you wish to acknowledge him. I ask you now to give me mine.”

“I am nearly twice your age” he said. 

“I want you, Lord Bolton” she said plainly. “I ask you to be my husband, to rule with me.”

“Sansa---” he frowned. 

She felt as if he had slapped her, and stepped back, pulling her wrist from his grip, “I apologize Lord Bolton, if you’ll excuse me.” With a nod of her head she strode from the tent, not pausing when she heard his hand slam into the table behind her. 

She was walking, determined to make it to the Godswood before she let her emotions show. The pain of his rejection, however gentle it had been, cut her deeply. More than she would admit. 

She had grown attached to Lord Bolton, from the moment he stormed into her life he had become important to her. She trusted him more than she trusted anyone, and she had hoped that he had become at least a little attached to her. She had hoped in vain. 

She smiled and nodded to the men who bowed as she passed, hundreds of pairs of eyes following her as she walked. She was so focused on schooling her features that she didn’t see the men’s eyes turn behind her, not until a hand caught her wrist and turned her around.

Before she could react, Roose’s arm was around her waist, hauling her against him and his lips were on hers. The men around them were cheering, but Sansa could barely think as she melted into his kiss. It was demanding, firm and lustful, his tongue parting her lips and delving into her mouth without pause. 

She felt weak and clung to the leather of his doublet as his hand buried itself in her hair. Just when she thought she would faint, or burst into tears, he pulled back, looking down at her with the smallest of smirks. 

“I promised you once that I would not leave your side” he said softly. 

“You did” she whispered, licking her swollen lips, tasting him on her flesh. 

“I do not intend to break it” he assured her. 

“No” she smiled. “Be my King?”

“I’ll be your husband” he nodded. 

Movement beside them caught her eye and she turned to see Ramsay smirking from atop his mount, “Father, Mother” he chuckled. “I will see you in Winterfell” he declared and with a cheer from his men, they rode North, out of camp. Tonight they would sneak into Winterfell, and by the army's arrival tomorrow, he promised the keep would be theirs. 

Sansa didn’t watch him go, she was too busy staring at the man who would be her husband. 

“Moment of truth,” Sansa said from her horse beside him, looking more beautiful than a woman had right to on the pitch black mare.

When she’d asked him to marry her, he could have been knocked over with a feather, that is how surprised he had been. She wanted _him_. She could have anyone in the seven kingdoms but it was him she offered herself to. 

For the first time in his almost forty years he had been unable to form words, and she took it as rejection. He’d been so frustrated he gave into the urge to slam his hand against the table before he steeled himself and stormed after her. 

He’d be damned before he let another man have her. From the first moment he’d laid eyes on her in King’s Landing he wanted her. Now he would have her. 

They rode side by side, an imposing pair in all black attire as they approached the gates of Winterfell. 

“Greetings!” Ramsay’s voice came from the ramparts as he appeared at the top. “Welcome to Winterfell” he motioned and the wooden gates creaked open. 

“Gods” Sansa laughed. “He’s done it.” 

“Equal parts brave, mad and skilled” Roose acknowledged in a rare moment of pride. The boy was touched, but he was damned good with a blade. Much like his father, he smirked.

Sansa rode forward and he followed, guiding his horse into the courtyard where dozens of Lannister men lay in the snow. With Sansa’s intimate knowledge of the keep, she had drawn Ramsay a map to a secret entrance, one she had used as a child, and he had been able to infiltrate the keep. 

Ramsay met them in the courtyard, helping Sansa from her horse with a smile.

“I am impressed, well done” Sansa pat Ramsay’s shoulder. 

“A wedded gift,” Ramsay smiled. “And for my mother-to-be” he motioned to his men and soon the body of Theon Greyjoy was dropped at her feet. “The man who betrayed your family and murdered your brothers.”

“And we give you a gift in return” Sansa said and Roose pulled the scroll from his cloak. 

“You are Ramsay Snow no more” Roose told him, watching as his son’s eyes went wide. “From this day, until your last day, you are Ramsay Bolton, son of Roose Bolton. And heir to the Dreadfort.” 

Ramsay opened the scroll, his eyes dancing over the text as he dropped to his knees, “I will honor our name, all my days, father.” 

Roose nodded, “Good” he said. “Now stand up, we’ve got a wedding to see to.” 

“Husband” Sansa smiled across the master’s chambers at Roose as he barred the door. She had just removed her boots and hose, enjoying the feel of the furs before the fire on her bare feet. Tonight, her first night back in Winterfell, would be her wedding night. She did not want to waste time, and they had wed in the Godswood shortly after their arrival. 

She had done what she thought was impossible six moons ago; she had wed a man of her choice at Winterfell beneath the Heart Tree. 

The celebration, of both the battle and wedding, was still in full swing below stairs, but they had snuck away to their rooms. To celebrate, Sansa had reasoned, as she whispered in his ear at the table. 

“Wife” he replied simply. 

She held out her hand and he moved closer, taking it in his own as he joined her by the fire. He moved to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist as he kissed her temple. She leaned into his strength, the broad width of his body resting against her. 

They enjoyed the warmth of the fire for several minutes, drinking in the silence of their rooms with the distant sound of revelers. Here, in the quiet of their rooms they could simply exist. She was not queen. He was no lord. Here, they were man and wife, only.

Once Joffrey learned that he had lost his hold in the North, once he received her letter that explained the North was now an independent kingdom, free from Southron rule, she knew that he would come. He would march his army North and try to beat them into submission. 

They would not bend the knee. She would never bend the knee. 

Roose’s hand cupped her face, pulling her from her thoughts, guiding her lips to his in an achingly gentle kiss. She turned into his embrace, sighing as his hands ran through her hair and to her back, holding her flush against him. 

Like this, she could feel the flex of his muscles as he moved, feel the growing length of his arousal against her. Her husband was a strong, powerful man and it felt wonderful to be wrapped in his arms. Just as she had when he took her hand in King’s Landing, she felt safe, protected. 

His hands worked at the laces of her dress, pulling them free until her gown slid away, leaving her in her shift. He raised a hand to the tie at the neck of her shift, but paused. 

“May I?” he asked and she nodded, watching his face as he pulled the tie free and moved the material away. His grey eyes were dark, filled with heat as he looked at her, taking in every detail of her. “Beautiful” he said softly. 

She had never undressed a man before, but she did her best, fingers fumbling only a few times as she rid her husband of his clothes. Roose was just as intimidating without his clothing as he was with it, all broad muscle that exudes power. 

She ran her hands over the warm flesh of his chest, the soft dusting of hair tickling her fingers. Her eyes followed her fingers as she traced the trail of a thin scar across his stomach to his hip, then moved to brush the thick length of him, now standing proudly between them. 

“Sansa” he spoke and she looked back to his eyes, seeing the smile playing at his lips. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the large bed, laying her on the blankets before joining her and taking her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. 

Their hands roamed, both of them exploring each other in unhurried movements. She could feel her body, lax and pliant under his, warming as she ached for his touch. When his hand cupped her breast, she whimpered into their kiss, sensation coursing through her. 

He worked her nipple with his thumb, teasing it until she was writhing against him, and then he moved away, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he suckled her into the warmth of his mouth. 

“Oh” she gasped, grabbing his biceps. He gave the other breast the same treatment, leaving her whimpering as he placed kisses across her stomach and hips. “Roose” she whispered as he nuzzled the fiery curls at the top of her thighs. 

“Hmm?” he parted her legs with strong hands, moving between them to look at the most intimate part of her. 

“What are---Oh” she cried out as his mouth on her sent her mind reeling. All she could do was try to breathe as he devoured her, lapping noisily at her folds and creating pleasure she had never imagined. 

It wasn’t until he sucked her bundle of nerves between his lips that she screamed, lost to pleasure as her back arched from the bed. It rolled through her, every inch of her body thrumming with her peak. 

“Perfection” Roose said, kissing her inner thigh, nuzzling against the silky skin. His wife was stunning, stretched out on their bed, her porcelain flesh flushed with desire. He knew that there would be no pleasure for her once he sank his cock into her, and she deserved to enjoy at least part of their wedding night. 

Crawling over her, he took himself in-hand, stroking slowly. He wanted her to the point of pain, his cock leaking in protest. Her bright Tully blue eyes watched him as he settled between her thighs, rubbing himself through her juices that lingered on her folds. 

Gods, he wanted to fuck her, pound into her until he had sated the burning lust in the back of his skull. She had, from the first, inspired a dark, possessive desire in him. One that he could not escape, and could not extinguish. 

“Roose” she ran her hands over his back to the curve of his ass, urging him forward. “Please…”

“I’m sorry” he whispered against her lips and pushed home. He slid into her easily, tearing through her maiden’s gift to fill her completely. She felt so damned good, hot and tight around his cock, her body meant to take his. 

She did not cry out, only gasped and squeezed her eyes shut at the intrusion, her fingers digging into the muscle of his ass before relaxing. He kissed her softly, lazily, to distract her and it seemed to work, relaxing her tense body bit by bit. 

When she was kissing him back with her previous enthusiasm and her hands resumed their wandering, he began to move. Setting a steady, slow pace that allowed her to grow accustomed to the rhythm, soon she was moving with him, hips lifting to meet his. 

Raising his upper body up a bit, he marvelled at the beauty of his wife, his Queen. Her hands held his sides, her eyes watching his body as it plunged in and out of hers. 

Seeing her in all her glory, watching her breasts bounce and her mouth part on a sigh of pleasure, combined with the feel of her around him, proved too much. His control, previously frayed, snapped and he allowed himself a few hard thrusts before he came, pouring inside of her with a growl. 

It felt like he came forever, and when he was done he collapsed beside her, trying to catch his breath. Sansa rolled to his side and he barely caught her grimace as she moved. 

“You’re hurt--” 

“No” she shook her head. “Just...wet” she blushed. 

“Ah,” he understood. Standing, he grabbed the cloth and wash basin and returned to the bed. “Open” he said and she hesitantly opened her legs. He would be embarrassed at the amount of his seed spilling from her, but he was more inclined to be proud that he had filled his wife such. He dampened the cloth and carefully wiped her, then wiped himself clean before discarding the cloth and basin. 

“Thank you” Sansa smiled as he slid into bed beside her. She nestled into his side, under the curve of his arm. 

He wasn’t sure what to say, so he simply held her, an arm around her while the other drew lazy circles on her arm where it rested on his chest. He held her as her breathing evened out and she lapsed into slumber, and then allowed sleep to take him as well. 

“Joffrey is coming” Sansa said, setting the letter on the table in front of her husband. “Less than a fortnight.”

Roose picked up the raven, reading over the words quickly, “He intends to annex the North under his rule. What will you do?”

It was the small notions, such as asking her what she was going to do rather than tell her, that reminded her that she had chosen the right man to be her husband. They had been married nearly five moons, working side by side to rebuild Winterfell and ensure peace in the North. 

Their days were spent hard at work and their nights spent lost in passion. Their marriage bed was filled with more pleasure than she could have imagined. 

She hid it well, but after they wed, each month when her moon blood arrived she felt disappointment lance across her heart. She found that she longed for a child of her own, ached to hold Roose’s baby in her arms. But each month she failed, and she would hide in the Godswood and cry, stifling her sobs with her cloak so she would not be heard. 

“Let him come” she reasoned, standing before the fire in the Great Hall. “Let him march to the neck and then the riders of The Vale will fall in behind him. We are not the only people tired of Lannister rule.”

“Setting a trap, I see” Roose smirked. 

“I use myself as bait,” she said. “Lure the armies to the North and then stop their retreat when they realize that the armies and the King of the North will be waiting. What say you?”

He stood from the table, crossing to the fire beside her, “The North should remain free, and if the Southron king crosses into our realm, we stop him. I will call Ramsay and my men to me, and then we march to meet them.”

“I will ride with you” she said resolutely. “I would be a terrible Queen if I sent men to fight without supporting them.”

Roose watched her closely for several seconds before he spoke, “You want to see him die.” 

“I do” she nodded. “You know me well. I would let Ramsay skull-fuck his corpse, if he so wished to.” His eyes did not hide his surprise at her words and she laughed softly. “He used to have me beaten before the entire court. Anytime he desired it he would let Ser Meryn Trant hit and kick me until I couldn’t breathe. He would make me beg for my life, make me apologize for each of my brother’s victories as he held a crossbow to my face. He killed my father, he killed my mother, he killed my brothers” she held Roose’s gaze. “I will hold him accountable for every single one.”

“Ser Meryn, he will be with Joffrey?” Roose asked, his voice impossibly cold. 

“Yes.”

“I will deal with him accordingly” he paused. “If you, my Queen, would permit---”

“Do what you will,” she said. “Leeches. Blades. I do not care how you do it, but I will give you two days before I require his head.”

“Done” he nodded, moving closer. “Come here, wife.”

“Yes, husband?” she smiled as he pulled her into his arms. 

“Listening to you plan a war, talk of skull fucking, very sexy” he smirked and she laughed. 

“You’re just excited to use your leeches,” she teased. 

He gave a small shrug, “Still” he glanced around and then guided her to a dark alcove in the corner, kissing her deeply. She melted against him, wrapping her arms around his neck as her back hit the stone wall. “Lift your skirts” he said between kisses and she lifted the heavy material and then he lifted her, wrapping her legs around him. 

He was back to kissing her as she helped him to free his cock. It was fortunate her husband was strong, she thought briefly as she guided him to her opening and he sank into her heat. 

He growled against her mouth as he fucked her, holding her against the warm stone wall. It was rough, filthy and fantastic, she sighed as he moved. She held to his neck, anchoring herself in his strength.

Roose was a many of many facets, calm and aloof on the outside, but his passions ran deep. When unleashed, those passions were her delights. The man could make love to her for hours or fuck her like a beast until she was screaming his name. 

Here, in the Great Hall he was more beast than man, rutting into her with fierce determination. 

She broke their kiss to gasp for air, their eyes locked as he took her, “Good, so good” she panted, chasing her release already. “Roose” she whispered, eyes going wide as voices sounded in the Hall. They were not likely to be seen in the darkness of the alcove, but still, it wasn’t proper for men to see their Queen being fucked like a whore in the Hall. 

But Roose was not deterred, he simply smirked and fucked her harder, his pace punishing. She felt it coming, unable to stop it, so leaned forward and buried her face in his neck, sinking her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder as she came hard on his cock. 

His skin absorbed her cries of pleasure as she clenched around him and, with a muffled grunt, he was coming too, pouring into her with a final violent thrust. 

She whimpered as the voice grew closer and then passed, moving out of the hall. Removing her mouth from his shoulder, she saw the imprints of her teeth on him, an odd brand that marked him as hers and it made her smile. 

“That will bruise” he teased. 

“Good” she kissed him softly. “Mine.”

Sansa sat atop her mare, waiting beside Roose as they prepared to ride south. Ramsay had arrived yesterday with the Bolton men, and House Glover would ride behind them from Deepwood Motte. 

“RIDER!” the calls rang out and Sansa turned to see a large black horse with a small rider atop crest the hill. 

“It’s a boy!” another called. 

“No” Sansa felt her heart race as she took in the shape of the face, the hair. “No” she dismounted. 

“Sansa!” Roose called out, scrambling after her, but she was already running. “Sansa!!”

The rider dismounted as she neared and Sansa laughed loudly at the familiar face. She hugged her sister with abandon, holding her tightly as she cried. Arya’s arms held her just as tight, and with surprising strength. 

“Gods, you’re alive” Sansa whispered. 

“Barely, you’re suffocating me” Arya quipped and Sansa released her. “You look exactly like mother.”

“And you’re every inch Aunt Lyanna” Sansa smiled. 

“Sansa” Roose’s deep voice came from behind her and she looked sheepishly at him, knowing he would scold her for putting herself in potential danger. 

“Roose,” she took his hand. “My sister, Lady Arya of House Stark. Arya, my husband, Lord Roose of House Bolton.” 

“Welcome home, Lady Stark” Roose squeezed Sansa’s hand gently. 

“I am not a lady, but thank you, Lord Bolton” Arya said, resting a hand on the sword at her side. “I heard you were going to war without me.”

“You’re just in time” Sansa said. 

“Good” Arya nodded and they made their way back to the others where Sansa made introductions once more. 

Ramsay was watching Arya with a curious stare, eyes alight with mischief, “A Stark for the both of us” he snickered to his father who only glared at him. 

Back in their saddles, they lead the armies south. Sansa used this time to catch up with her sister, unable to stop stealing glances at her, hardly able to believe she was alive. 

“You any good with that?” Ramsay asked her, motioning to the sword at her hip. They had stopped for the night, making camp just outside of Moat Cailin. To her right in the command tent, she could see Sansa and her husband with the other lords, all of them confirming their movements and plans. 

It was surprising to see Sansa so at home speaking of war, so...happy. Command suited her. She had changed, they both had. While Arya had gotten tougher, Sansa had grown even more beautiful. Beauty enough to have the fierce flaying Lord watching her like a damned puppy dog. 

Even as they stood together, Lord Bolton’s hand was at her back, toying with the ends of her hair. No wonder Sansa looked so happy, she chuckled, she gotten the doting warrior she’d always dreamed of. 

Turning back to the man across from her, she took in the details of Ramsay Bolton. He was tall, broad like his father with shaggy brown hair and startling grey-blue eyes. He was handsome, if a bit over-confident. His eyes, however, told her that he was wild, unpredictable. 

He could be fun.

“Better than you” Arya replied dryly, shifting by the fire and keeping her boots warm. After many years in Essos, the chill of the North seemed to cut through her. 

“No one is better than me with a blade,” he replied. “Except my father.” 

“I don’t believe you” she replied. 

“Calling me a liar?” he leaned forward. 

“Absolutely” she smirked. “Let’s play a little game. I like to call it ‘who's the better killer?’ When the battle comes, keep count. We’ll see who is best.” 

“And to the winner?” 

“The title ‘Best’,” she suggested. 

“I win, you and I have a little fun” he replied, his eyes raking over her. 

“Won’t your little mistress be upset?” she looked to where the dark haired woman with a bow was watching them intently. 

“She’ll understand” he shrugged. 

“I don’t share” Arya returned his shrug. 

“You win, I give her the boot” he raised a brow, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. 

“You win, I let her keep her pretty face” she replied, relaxing against the log at her back. A lesser man would have wondered what she meant, but not Ramsay Bolton. No, he only smiled wider, delighted by the violence. 

Oh yes, Arya decided. He will be fun.

Once again, Sansa found herself on horseback beside her husband, this time with her sister and good-son at her side as they looked across the field at King Joffrey and his vanguard. 

“Ready?” Roose asked. 

“Yes” Sansa nodded and they moved forward together, their guards and bannermen at their back. Where Joffrey was displaying his prancing stag, Sansa had ordered both the Stark and Bolton sigils be visible, along with any other house that joined them, showing that they were a united force against the south. 

She noticed that Tywin Lannister was not with them, and a thin, older man in a black robe rode beside Joffrey, the Hand of the King pin on his chest. An interesting development. Behind him, on the largest horse she had seen, was The Mountain, looking angry as ever. Ser Meryn was beside him and Sansa almost smiled at the thought of what her husband was going to do to Trant. 

Cocky as ever, Joffrey smirked at her as they stopped several feet from each other. 

“If it isn’t the little wolf bitch who calls herself Queen of the North” he laughed, looking to Ser Meryn. 

“You’re a long way from home,” she replied. “You should turn around now, while you still can.” 

“I am here to take back the North” Joffrey said. “It belongs to me. Just like you belong to me.”

“Where is your Grandfather? He could always talk sense into you, tug on your leash a bit” Sansa asked. 

“I have dismissed him from his position and he has returned to Casterly Rock” Joffrey replied. “Maester Qyburn is my Lord Hand now, a very bright man with lovely ideas about pain and death” he motioned to the thin man beside him. 

“And I see Ser Meryn, ever the loyal lackey” Sansa said, and at this Roose’s attention turned to the kingsguard, eyes cold as the North itself. 

“I bet you’ve missed me, whore” Meryn laughed. 

“Speak to my sister that way again and I will give you something to miss” Arya warned and Ramsay giggled. _Giggled_. 

“Surrender the North, Lady Stark, and I will be kind in your punishment” Joffrey suggested. 

“No” Sansa replied plainly. “And its Queen Sansa Bolton.”

“Bend the knee!” he demanded. 

“The North will never bow to a Southron king again. I choose war” Sansa stated. 

“Lady Stark, be reasonable” Qyburn began. 

“Queen. Sansa. Bolton” she countered. “I am a Stark by blood and a Bolton by choice. Like the Red Bolton Kings before me, I will fight for my people. I will _not_ bend the knee!”

“You bitch!” Joffrey glared. “How dare---”

“I am tired of listening to you speak” she cut him off. “The time of Southron rule in the North has ended and tomorrow my armies will lay waste to your men. For two days, I have lifted the law against flaying in the North, and I will let the Bolton men have their fun. Your skin will hang on the border of our realms for the world to see” she told him and Ramsay’s chilling laugh cemented her threat. “I have even promised that my good-son could fuck you in any of your holes he deem’s worthy. Your lackey, I have promised to my husband, I do so love to give him presents that he can enjoy” she smiled. 

“You bitch---”

“You’re going to die tomorrow, Joffrey _Lannister_” she said bluntly. “Sleep well.”

With that, she turned her mount around and rode back to camp, her vanguard following and leaving the Lannisters behind. She noticed the odd expression on Roose’s face but didn’t comment on it, instead sitting stoic as she rode through the armies, the cheers of her men echoing around her.

“No one enters” Roose told the guard at the entrance to the command tent. He followed Sansa in and closed the flap behind him. Inside, she was unbuckling her cloak and hanging it on the hook on the wall before pacing away. He did the same before rounding to her side of the table.

“I know, I was angry--” she broke off when she turned to look at him. He stalked closer, trailing a hand across the heavy map table.

He did not hesitate as he reached her, pulling her into his arms and taking her lips with his. She was braced for an argument, but he wanted nothing more than to fuck his glorious wife. He’d been half hard watching her put that little shit in his place, and by the time she told him he was going to die he was ready to fuck her right there in the snow. 

This kiss was wild, brutal and possessive, his mouth demanding her obedience as he ran his hands over her body. Sansa whimpered and mewled against him, clearly on the same page, her blood just as heated as his. 

She cried out in surprise as he spun her toward the table and bent her over the maps. He lifted her dress in a frantic rush, groaning as he found her already soaked. He wasted no time, untying his breeches and freeing his cock, he lined himself up and shoved himself deep. 

“Mine” he said, barely above a whisper and she sobbed in pleasure as her began to roughly fuck into her. 

“Yes...Roose...” she clawed at the table’s surface, her cheek pressed to the cool wood.She was soaked, her body so damned tight around his that he was barely hanging on. At this angle, thanks to their near-equal heights, he could bury himself completely inside her. He loved to make his wolf howl with his cock deep inside of her. 

He kept his hard rhythm, smirking as she screamed through her first peak, her body fluttering around his. She was gasping for air, sobbing as her legs shook and he slowed his pace. 

“Shh” he soothed, pulling back enough to turn her, helping her to sit on the table’s edge. She stole several soft kisses as he moved back to her core and filled her, slowly this time. “My Red Queen.”

“My King” she kissed him, her legs wrapping around him as he kept a slow pace, filling her completely over and over. 

He tunneled his hands into her hair, holding her as they shared languid, wet kisses. The violence was gone, but the possession remained, the fire in their blood remained. But now, he wasn’t fucking her--no, this was something deeper, something heavier. 

This, he decided, pulling back to look into her eyes as he felt her body reaching its next climax, this was making love. This was love. The admiration of her ferocity, of her intelligence and her beauty, the early nights and late mornings in bed, this was….

“Roose” she gasped, holding tightly to him as she came. He watched her, seeing her secrets laid bare in her eyes as her body milked his, pulling his release from him in turn. He groaned, nuzzling into her neck, as he pulsed into her, coating her walls with his seed. “I love you” she said softly, so softly that he barely heard her over the blood rushing through his ears. 

Pulling back she would not look at him, her eyes glued to his shoulder, “Sansa” he cupped her chin, bringing her eyes to his. “You are ashamed?”

“No” she said. “I just...didn’t mean to say it.”

He frowned, “Didn’t mean to say it because you didn’t want to admit suchs or didn’t mean to say it because you don’t feel it?”

“Our marriage wasn’t about love,” she said. 

“But it became that regardless” he reasoned. 

“Yes---wait, what?” 

“I am not a man for flowery words or grand declarations, but I do love you, Sansa” he told her, watching the tears spill from her eyes. “I have been damned determined to show you by giving you all those babies you want so badly.”

“How did you know?” she gasped. 

“You think I don’t see the pain in your eyes every month?” he asked. “It kills me to see you sneak away to cry, Sansa. No more hiding, understood?” 

She nodded, kissing him with a smile, “No more hiding.” 

“Ready?” Arya asked Ramsay as they looked across the field at the Lannister armies. 

“Always” he nodded. 

They looked to Roose who was to command them all, and with a nod, hell was unleashed. 

Side by side, Arya and Ramsay rushed into the fray as archers loosed their arrows, raining them across the field and into the Lannisters. Roose was a bit behind them, clearly taking a calm approach to war as he did everything else. 

“One” she heard Ramsay laugh and she growled, pulling her dagger and focusing on the task at hand. While she had killed before, many times over, she had never been in the thick of battled and found it initially overwhelming. The sights, sounds and smells consumed her senses and she was hard pressed to hold focus. 

But soon she found her groove, everything falling into step as she fought at Roose and Ramsay’s side. 

The sheer numbers of the Northern army had them pushing the Lannister men back, and when the riders from The Vale filed in at their backs, the Lannisters were truly fucked. Soon their bodies littered the snow, the white frost now an angry red scar on the horizon. 

“Twenty three” Ramsay said beside her, wiping his face on the sleeve of his tunic. 

She twirled the dagger in her hand “29, princess” she said as Joffrey appeared on the back of his white horse, looking terrified as he realized how large of a mistake he had made. She flipped the dagger once more and Ramsay stayed her hand. 

“Alive” he told her. 

“How alive?” 

“Alive enough” he replied and she flung the dagger, burying the blade in the boy-king’s upper thigh, unhorsing him. “Perfect” Ramsay said, stalking forward. 

Arya followed, standing over the little blonde shit while Ramsay dug the dagger deeper into his skin. 

“Please, please don’t kill me” Joffrey begged. 

Arya scoffed, of course he would beg, but his begs turned to screams as Ramsay dragged the blade toward the knee, splitting him open. 

Swearing to her right had her turning to see Roose cut down Ser Meryn Trant...wait. She looked around frantically, Joffrey, Meryn Trant…

“The Mountain!” Arya screamed to Roose. “Where is The Mountain!?”

Roose froze, then leapt into action, grabbing the nearest uninjured horse, “See to him, I want him alive” he pointed to Trant and his men got to work. Spinning the horse around quickly, he racing towards camp. 

“She’s already dead” Joffrey said through his tears. “He’ll rape her bloody and tear her apart.”

“I was going to be merciful” Ramsay said, leaning into Joffrey’s face. “But that’s my mother you’re talking about.”

Joffrey’s screams echoed across the snow. Arya stayed to watch Ramsay work, smirking the entire time. 

Sansa was sitting in the command tent when the yelling reached her. She stood, and walked to the door, looking out to see the large form of The Mountain cutting his way through the vanguard left with her. 

“Shit” she cursed, moving back to the table and grabbing one of Roose’s flaying knives, tucking it into her sleeve an instant before The Mountain filled her doorway. 

“King says I get to do what I want” he ran his eyes over her, leering in such a way that her skin crawled. “I can’t wait to fuck you.” 

“I would rather die” she replied. 

“You will, eventually” he chuckled. “We’ll see how long you last once we get started.”

“You’re a monster” she said. 

“I’m a man” he pulled his helmet off and tossed it aside. 

“No” she shook her head. “You’re not a man.”

He undid his belt next, tossing it and his sword onto the map table. His movements were unhurried, confident and she felt terror settle in her stomach. The closest seam in the tent was to her right, she might be able to make it if she was quick. 

She darted towards it but he was there, grabbing her throat and pulling her back and throwing her across the map table. She slid on the smooth surface and landed on the floor, her body aching horribly. 

Again, he picked her up, this time throwing her into the side of the table, her ribs screaming in protest after connecting with the solid edge. 

Again, he was over her, squeezing her jaw so tightly she could hardly scream. With all her might she spit in his face, and roared throwing her across the tent. 

Growling, he rounded the table, bending down to grab a handful of her hair and dragging her to her feet, “Lady Stark, always so feisty” he laughed. 

“You’re forgetting something” she glared at him despite the odd angle at which he held her head. 

“What’s that?” 

“I’m a Bolton” she had the flaying knife in his throat before he could blink, dragging the incredibly sharp blade through his flesh as easy as butter. 

He dropped her, stumbling back with his hands over his throat, blood pouring from between his fingers. She watched him, Roose’s blade clenched in her hand, as he bled out. By the time he sank to his knees he was soaked in his own blood, the white of his cloak a violent burgundy. 

“Sansa!” Roose’s voice called to her, and she struggled against the darkness, but she couldn’t sagged to the floor and sank into oblivion. 

Roose rode as if The Stranger himself was on his heels, tearing across the acres until camp came into sight and his blood ran cold. Men lay everywhere and several tents had been torn down. 

“Sansa!” he aimed for the command tent, dismounting the second he arrived. “Sansa---fuck” he saw the bloodied form of The Mountain, but realized it was the man’s own blood that soaked him. 

The edge of her dress peeked out from the other side of the table and he moved to her side quickly, relief coursing over him at the sight of his flaying blade in her hand. She had killed him, judging by the blood on the blade and her hand, his Red Queen had slain The Mountain. 

Kneeling he grimaced at the cut in her hairline and bruising on her cheeks. But her dress was not torn, she had not been… Gods, he would kill every southerner he could if Sansa had been raped. Nothing would have stopped him. 

Lifting her in his arms, he carried her from the tent and towards a maester, hoping he could find one alive. 

It was near dark when Ramsay and Arya returned to camp, each of them pulling a Lannister behind their horses. Ramsay had Joffrey trussed up like a pig and Arya had delivered him Meryn trant. 

“Thank you” Roose said. 

“Sansa?” Arya asked, dismounting and handing Roose the rope that held Meryn’s ankles. 

“In the tent,” he motioned. “He beat her, but there was no rape.”

“Is he dead?” she asked. 

“Sansa slit his throat” Roose smirked. “She had my best flaying blade in her hand when I found her. With that knife, cutting his throat would have been easier than breathing.”

“Good” Arya nodded, moving around him and ducking into the tent. 

“Two days” Ramsay smirked. 

“Two days. Starting now” Roose pulled the rope, dragging Ser Meryn fucking Trant closer. 

“We have a letter from King Stannis Baratheon” Sansa extended the letter to her husband as he entered their chambers that night. 

“King Stannis, now” Roose raised a brow. 

“It seems with his sack of King’s Landing, we no longer have to worry about Cersei or Jaime Lannister seeking revenge for Joffrey’s death” Sansa explained. “He accepts our secession, and seeks to form trade agreements.”

It had been four moons since the bloody Battle of Lion’s End, as they now called it. When Ramsay and Roose finished with their ‘charges’, they had returned to Winterfell and their bannermen had traveled home, high on their victory.

The North was free, and would remain such for as long as her family reigned.

Since then, Sansa noticed the closeness between Arya and Ramsay, wondering if it had anything to do from Myranda’s departure. Admittedly, Arya and Ramsay shared a certain tendre for violence that Sansa would never understand. Though, according to what Arya had told her, Ramsay hadn’t truly lost his head until Joffrey admitted to sending The Mountain for her. 

Upon his departure to The Dreadfort, Arya had decided to travel with him, and she just hoped to the Old Gods that Arya drank moon tea. The world didn’t need anymore Bolton bastards. 

“Will you accept?” Roose set the letter aside and shucked his cloak and boots, working the ties of his doublet as he sat on the edge of the bed beside her. 

She nodded, “I think so. I would have to speak with him face to face, I should like to judge his character for myself. But that will have to wait at least a few moons.”

“Why’s that?” he frowned. 

“It took nearly a year, but I am with child” she smiled, reaching out to take his hand. “At first I thought I did not bleed because of my injuries, but Maester Wolkan has confirmed that I carry a babe.”

He squeezed her hand, “The smile on your face is the most beautiful thing I have seen in this world.”

“I am so happy” she cried, blinking away tears. 

“As am I” he discarded the rest of his clothing and slid into their bed beside her. She moved into her husband’s arms the moment he was settled, placing a kiss over his heart. “Come here” he pulled her astride his lap, her laugh filling the room. “Let me have a look at you” he pulled her shift over her head and tossed the fabric aside. 

“You cannot tell” she laughed as his hands roamed her bare skin. 

“Your nipples are darker” he announced, strumming the peaks with his thumbs. 

“They are not!”

“They are” he nodded, sitting up to pull one into his mouth, suckling it gently. 

She gasped, rocking against him, “Oh. That’s...”

“Sensitive too” he moved to the other breast. 

“Roose” she ran her fingers through his short hair, watching him worship her. 

“You’re beautiful” he kissed her sternum. 

“I need you” she smoothed a hand over his beard. 

“Then take me” he countered. Sansa smiled, rubbing herself against the length of his shaft, sighing softly at the feeling of his thick cock against her bundle of nerves. “You’re a dreadful tease.”

“Perhaps” she rose up enough to fit the blunt head of him against her opening. She teased him until he growled in frustration, hands moving to her hips to impale her on his body. She loved the feeling of him inside of her, the stretch and the fullness of it. 

Leaning down, she kissed him, delving into his mouth as she moved over him. Beyond this room the snow was silently falling to the earth and beyond that the Southron realms adjusted to their new king. But she cared not, because her world was right here beneath her. 

His strong arms banded around her, their chests pressed together as they made love, celebrating the miracle of life that they had created. 

The miracle that would be King Royce V Bolton, the fearless ruler who would face down the Night’s King to protect his people and the North, cementing his place as a King of legend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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